Archive for the ‘dollars and cents’ Category

I’ve spent so much time, my whole life it seems, proving that I can do everything/anything myself, that I no longer know what I do best.

I have/am wasted/wasting my time doing everything myself that I should be having others who do it better do for me that I am no longer excelling at anything.

I truly have become a jack of all trades and master of none while I have been deluding myself that I am really a master of all and jack of none — guess I don’t know jack, even though he was my father.

But wait — my dad was named Jack but rarely did he attempt to do everything himself though he could be quite handy and often tried. He was perhaps trying to emulate his adopted father John whom was truly handy in so many ways.

Yet he too didn’t try to do Everything. Could it be a trait I picked up from my father’s biological father whom I never met or knew — or something I mistakenly took as a directive when hearing that phrase —

jack of all trades and master of none?

So here I am at seventy, trying to do everything and ending up feeling wasted and wan.

I used to feel like I was part of a mass movement for good
like a particle in a sea of positive elements all moving
in the same direction generally, each contributing
even though we are all very differently endowed.

Now I feel more like I am a piece of discarded refuse
in spite of my continuing contributions and activities;
a piece of rotting food on a pile of more rotting food
used only to fuel the vagaries of a few vultures and rats
who quarrel over the few remaining bits we comprise.

Politicians, bankers, generals, preachers and pirates
feeding their insatiable egos on the rotting remains of civility
and reasonable order, enjoying especially the mindless
scent of their misguided followers’ rantings and alms,
pushing them further into the greedy nirvana they crave.

How far will we have to rot here before we become choking
in our putrescence — how vile must we get to have an effect
that reflects the nature of our situation until it rightly gags
the devouring giants and hungrily-nibbling rats
toppling them into an abyss from which they again feed our growth.

Its probably just another example of the balance of everything
over time, repeating its rhythmic dance and my anxiety is nothing
but my part to be played in this tableau so here I am,
promoting being to the extreme, being to our limits and just a little
beyond since that is the essence of life — pushing and pulling.

Whoever you are, now is the time to act out, to hold no reins
and be a part of the life that surrounds us in this beautiful chaos.
Burn brightly from every orifice and do your part what ever it is:
devouring and becoming fatter yet or rotting and becoming putrid
enough to do the choking of those greedy bastards. Get up and dance!

what rakish and daring exploit was I going to write about?
it seems to have totally slipped out of my mind this morning
as I settle in to my studio moving the four bicycles I have there
to accommodate my sitting to attack the keyboard which records
my inner wanderings and thoughts into its virtual library.

I try to fight off the distractions of others’ noises in pursuit
of their own agendas and mysteries on this fine and sunny
summer Monday morning just past the hour of nine.

This is the time I’ve determined is the best if one has to
travel about on errands — Most who start at nine are there
and those that started earlier are taking their first break
so the roads are quieter now after the rush while everyone
seems to have gotten out of my way just for me and a few
others who also have this figured out — aah, ain’t life great.

But I’ve still not recalled the event I wanted to chronicle
perhaps a diversion into something else is in order
it was something I know so well and can recall every detail
but at the moment its gone just beneath that surface film
that can more than cloud these memories in some shadows
cast by what I don’t know.

____________

So after a diversion I still can’t recall so will be on my way
to return later when that thought returns for real. so long for now.

_____________

It was around 1967 when I shared a painting studio
in the abandoned Collins building downtown
in Seattle’s skid road

I built a small car out of cardboard boxes
to look like a child’s drawing of a car — boxy

it was covered with large pieces of newsprint
I’d gotten from my uncle who worked at the Times

and painted bright pink with black lines
and in the driver’s side window

was pasted a print of Ruben’s Child
and of course there were wheels and bumpers and lights

I took it down onto the street below
and set it into a parking space and paid the meter

We watched from our fourth floor window
as cars stopped to park then seeing it — drove on

This must be street theater we thought
so ventured out into other neighborhoods

In the U-District we again parked the bright little boxy car
and sat in a restaurant across the street to watch

It was beautiful to observe this child-styled artwork
in its contrast with the mundane surroundings

and to witness others’ amusement and wonder
at what and why this anomaly was

In a moment when our attention was diverted
by our conversation or coffee

we suddenly noticed the car had been removed
and was headed up the street in a meter maid’s cart

By the time we got out onto the street it was nowhere in sight
so, dejected we walked back to our car just up the block

As we passed by a small City storefront office we stopped
because there just inside on the floor

was our little pink child-styled car offering yet another contrast
that caused us to laugh and thrill at this circumstance

We entered immediately and inquired as to what it was doing there
since we had indeed paid our fare at the meter

and exclaimed that just because our car was so different
was no reason it should be impounded without notice

I wish this tale had a more exciting ending
like a day in court or perhaps some media coverage but alas

We were sent on our way without prosecution
since after all it was only art — hummph.

And this is the kind of thing that made Andy Warhol
and others famous while we trudge on in obscurity

Having fun and creating anomalies whenever and wherever
we can leaving no footprints and packing out our wastes.